Brand
by knacc
Summary: Elayrah Brosca still hasn't told Zevran what the brand on her face means.


Elayrah still hasn't told Zevran. She's been meaning to, she really has but every time she's even thought about broaching the subject, it's quickly become apparent that it actually isn't a good time at all. Sure, it didn't help that she's enjoying how few of the surfacers know what the brand means, that she's reveling in the fact that when they look at her, they just see some surface dwarf who's allowed to prove herself and stand up on her own merits just like any other person.

Alistair had trusted her immediately, had fallen in line when she'd taken charge even before Duncan had died just because he believed Duncan when he'd said she was competent. And Zevran is always calling her beautiful and talented and strong like those aren't crazy things to say about a bottom of the barrel duster like herself. In fact, she's pretty sure that aside from Bodahn, the only one of her companions who knows exactly what her brand means is Wynne but seeing as she'd left the Circle to help her after only a day of knowing her and had told her straight up that she thought the caste system was backwards, Elayrah knows that Wynne will never think less of her due to any silly mark and she's grateful.

But Zevran deserves to know, needs to know what he'd gotten himself into (they were in a relationship of some sort after all) and so she's going to tell him, one of these days for sure. She looks up from the paragraph her eyes have been skimming over and over as she's been thinking to where Zevran is sitting next to her, currently preoccupying himself with some quick weapons maintenance before bed. She watches his dexterous hands as he rubs a thin coat of oil on to one of his blades.

 _What am I so worried about?_ she wonders. _It isn't like Zevran would really think less of me if he knew, right?_ Zevran had basically been a slave himself and while she knows that it isn't the same thing and that being a Crow had had its privileges, it seems to her that working for the Crows was an awful lot like Rica's situation; lots of glamor but no free will. Logically, there's no way Zevran would ever react poorly to this information. She brings her eyes up to his face, watching as his eyes narrow to inspect his blade, the tip of his tongue just sticking out the corner of his lips. She smiles without thinking about it and then sighs.

No, the reason she's worried about telling him has nothing to do with logic and everything to do with just how deeply she feels about him. This whole thing had started as just a fun little flirtation between teammates but now, after a few months of getting to know him and a several nights of sharing a bed, Elayrah is starting to think that she might just be falling in love with him and she's not sure if that's okay really. Yes, Zevran had said that he would follow her lead as to where their relationship went but there has to be a limit on that, right? Like a point where she pushes his amicable but commitment-phobic personality too far and he cuts and runs? Elayrah isn't sure but she'd guess that literally coming out and admitting that she thinks she wants to spend the rest of her life with him would probably be one of those points. And in spite of her best attempts to shake her baggage about her brand, she still feels like the small chance that he won't make a break for it when she admits her feelings will be entirely destroyed if he knows the truth about who she is. _Why would a handsome assassin like him want to spend his life with short, stocky reject like me?_

She lets out another little sigh and Zevran finally notices she's staring at him and smiles. "You look as if you have the weight of the world on your shoulders, belleza," he says, setting his sword on his lap and wrapping his close arm around her shoulders. "And while that is not entirely untrue at the moment, perhaps there is something I can do to help bring a smile back to that lovely face?"

"I'm really not sure-" Elayrah starts to says before Zevran starts talking over her.

"I know that my bawdy poetry did not help as much as I would have hoped last time but I do have other tricks up my sleeve. A massage perhaps? Or maybe I could give you a new tattoo?" he says, gesturing at her face with his free hand, "Ideally somewhere a bit more… intimate." Zevran wiggles his eyebrows, his eyes looking her up and down.

Elayrah sighs and looks down at her still open book, Zevran's words and her recent thoughts clashing together in her mind. _I'm being stupid_ , she thinks, _if the only reason he'd stay with me is because he doesn't know what the brand means then I don't want to be with him anyway, right?_ She grits her teeth and looks back up to meet his eyes. "This isn't a tattoo," Elayrah says, hoping that her nerves aren't written all over her face, "this is a brand."

"Oh." Zevran's eyes widen for a second but then he recovers. "So you were a… slave as well then?" His eyebrows raise just slightly as if he's only mildly intrigued but she can feel his grip loosen on her shoulder.

Elayrah shakes her head, her stomach twisting up in knots. It's always amused her how transparent Zevran's emotions can be considering the fact that he must have been trained to mask them during his time with the Crows but right now she wishes it was a little less obvious how uncomfortable he already was. She swallows and pushes on. "No. You see, slaves have value. This," she points at her brand, her face falling just slightly as she does, "means that I don't have any."

Zevran reaches out and puts his hand on her cheek, turning her face back up and running his thumb across the brand as he does. She pushes her face back into his hand on instinct. "Dwarves must be horrible appraisers of value then," he says, leaning down and kissing her on the lips between his words, "because I can't think of anyone with more value than you."

Elayrah is stunned for a second, her cheeks blooming into a slight blush and then she chuckles. "Come on… be serious, please. I'm not kidding about what this mark means-"

"I'm not joking either," Zevran cuts her off, his expression falling. "How the people of Orzammar could see no value in a beautiful, strong, determined woman like yourself is beyond me. Perhaps it is because of that overly kind heart of yours? Dwarves are well known for their hatred of charity of any kind, no?"

Elayrah's heart clenches in her chest but she still just shakes her head at him. "It's just-" she sighs, "I was branded at birth, determined useless before I even had a chance. To the people in Orzammar, me and the rest of the casteless will never be anything more than this brand."

"I see," Zevran says, nodding slightly, "That explains why a wonder such as yourself always responds to even the slightest of compliments like some sort of shy schoolgirl. I had figured you were just playing coy but no, this whole time you were being earnest." He smiles, leaning in to kiss her as he mumbles, "What a find you are, mi tesoro."

Elayrah blushes deeper and leans in to kiss him back before pulling away and shaking her head. "Wait, wait…is that really all you have to say? I'm… cute?"

Zevran blinks his eyes and pulls back, looking slightly put out to not be kissing her right now. "And how else should I respond? You didn't really expect such information to change how I feel about you, did you?"

Elayrah grimaces and drops her eyes. "Well…"

Zevran scoffs. "Now I'm offended. Do you really think me so petty as to care what some stupid, ill-informed dwarves think?"

"It's not that…" Elayrah look up at him and frowns, "I've just never had friends like you or the rest of the group before. The fact that you all respect me enough to follow me means a lot and the thought of losing that respect kinda freaks me out." She pauses and bites her bottom lip before forcing herself to say, "Also… I really… like you Zevran. It makes me a bit stupid sometimes to be honest."

"Oh ho," Zevran grins, "well in that case, how could I not forgive you, seeing as I myself am not known for making the wisest of decisions when you are around either?"

Elayrah meets his eyes and smiles, her heart fluttering in her chest at his words. She leans in to kiss him and as their lips meet and she feels a lithe, strong hand cup her branded cheek, the last of her lingering doubts are lost for the moment to kisses and mumbled Antivan endearments.


End file.
